


The Ecstasy of Anthony J Crowley

by YamiSnuffles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Divinity Kink, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Rimming, Sex in the Bentley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24170350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: The ground in front of him was an obsidian streak. All that remained of a demon, now but char and smoke. That could have been him. Countless times over the millennia, that should have been him. Crowley's chest rose and fell with every frantic gulp of air. Fear, yes, but something else, something that pooled molten hot at his core.-Aziraphale inspires Crowley's best impression of Teresa of Avila.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 37
Kudos: 303
Collections: Name That Author Round 3: After Dark





	The Ecstasy of Anthony J Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> Expanded from a 500 word prompt fill for "I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me."

The smell of ozone permeated the air. It made the hairs on the back of Crowley's neck stand on end and triggered something bone deep in him, something forged in sulfur and ruin. It told him to shed his skin, burrow into the wet, loose soil and become part of the loam.  _ You are a snake. You are oil. Go back to the earth and be consumed _ .  _ Get out of the light _ .

The ground in front of him was an obsidian streak. All that remained of a demon, now but char and smoke. That could have been him. Countless times over the millennia, that  _ should  _ have been him. Babylon, Egypt, Greece, and more. They’d been at odds for so long and yet Crowley had survived it all. His chest rose and fell with every frantic gulp of air. Fear, yes, but something else, something that pooled molten hot at his core.

He couldn’t look away from the hard, angry line of Aziraphale’s shoulders nor from solid fingers with their neat trimmed nails now crackling with residual energy. A spark skipped from one knuckle to the next. Crowley wanted those hands on him, no matter how they might burn. Especially because they might burn. He wasn’t entirely fireproof, not when it came to Aziraphale. There wasn’t a shred of him that was safe from Aziraphale.

Sulfur burned a vibrant, violent blue. Crowley could feel the memory of it in his skin as he looked in Aziraphale’s eyes. Then Aziraphale blinked and that blue cooled to a river, an ocean. In the space of that blink, his face went from coolly impassive to terrified.

“Are you alright?” he asked. His hands ghosted just above Crowley’s arms, his shoulders, in search of injury. “You’re shaking. I didn’t hit you, did I?”

“No, it’s not—”

Crowley shook his head but he felt lost in a fog. He could still feel it in the air, the strain of Aziraphale’s ethereal might against this mortal plane. If he raised his hand he could just about touch the protective curve of a wing that pressed against the fabric of reality, just beyond reach but close enough that they both shivered.

Crowley all but lunged at Aziraphale. He wanted to taste. He needed it. He missed his mark and had to drag his hungry mouth across Aziraphale’s jaw to find his lips. Once there, he pressed in, in as far as he could go. Words of divine command remained there like an echo, on tongue and teeth. It was something electric that numbed and enlivened all at once. Crowley couldn’t get enough of it.

There was a question on those lips but Aziraphale was quick to respond, sinking in with a groan. It was messy and delicious and it only made Crowley want more. He was beyond the point of caring that he had an erection that was straining ever more against too tight denim. What did he care if Aziraphale felt the hard press of it on his stomach when the taste of the angel made his teeth and tongue tingle? It was the taste of that first storm and a wing over his head. It was surer to destroy him than a swan dive into holy water and he was more than happy to leap.

Aziraphale gasped when he came up for air. The hand he pressed to Crowley’s chest was the only thing that kept them parted as he spoke. “Should I ask what spurred this?”

“Probably shouldn’t.”

A soft laugh was paired with an even softer smile. “Alright then, what do you say we continue this back at the flat?”

“Lead the way, angel. You know I’ll follow.”

“Will you now? Anywhere?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow and Crowley arched one right back at him. “Yes? Is that even a question.”

“Oh, but there are so many possibilities.” Aziraphale looked down at their discarded picnic blanket. “We’d been enjoying a nice meal before we were so rudely interrupted. Perhaps I’m in the mood to eat something more.”

“Whatever you want.” Crowley’s voice jumped an octave with each word. He took a moment to quickly pack the remains of their prior meal into the tartan lined basket, leaving only a wide expanse of inviting blanket. The smiting had lit the sky like a beacon that warned any mortals away. The danger of it rolled thick through the air. They could do whatever they liked without fear of prying eyes. Not that Crowley particularly cared one way or another at the moment. “So, uh, yeah. Could do that. If you’re still hungry.”

“For you? Always.” Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully. With a snap of his fingers, the blanket was rolled on top of the basket. He walked onward, trusting that Crowley would grab their things. “But there is a bit of a chill in the air. It could be unpleasant,” he mused as he found the path out of the park.

“Could be…”

That  _ always  _ was caught somewhere between Crowley’s third and fourth ventricle. The angel could be insatiable but it still felt impossible to Crowley that he was on the menu. Months after the averted apocalypse and he had no clue if there was bottom depth to that hunger. He knew his own want was endless. If there was any end to it, he would split himself apart to make more room for Aziraphale. He wanted to consume and be consumed, now more than ever.

He drifted helplessly in Aziraphale’s wake until it led them back to the Bentley. A drive to either the shop or his flat seemed impossible. He had no idea how he’d survive the wait, no matter how fast he drove, but he’d go as slow as Aziraphale needed.

Aziraphale took both basket and blanket and tucked them safely onto the floor in front of the back seat. He remained stooped, eyeing the interior.

“This seems spacious,” he mused, as though out shopping for furniture and not a place to fuck. Crowley barely heard him over the blood pounding in his ears. “I know how you are about this beastly contraption, though.”

“Just what part of you do you think would sully my car? Any bit of it can count itself lucky to be blessed by your backside.”

Aziraphale sidled up close and kissed Crowley’s neck. Then his ear. “And just where,” he asked in a low rumble, “is it that you want my backside?”

He palmed at Crowley through his jeans and the demon’s hips stuttered in response. He pinned Aziraphale against the car so that any remaining space between them dissolved. That serpentine part of him that existed just below the surface ached to taste the celestial scent that clung to centuries old fabric. Perhaps then he could untangle that intangible, ineffable something that marked Aziraphale as an angel like no other. 

“Whatever you want to do. Wherever. I told you.”

“I know.” Azirphale kissed either cheek then pressed a hand to the small of Crowley’s back to pull him closer still. His breath brushed the shell of Crowley’s ear. “But you never told me what this was about. So tell me now— what do you want?”

What did he want? He wanted to bend Aziraphale over the hood of the Bentley. He wanted his mouth on Aziraphale and Aziraphale’s mouth on him. He wanted Aziraphale inside him, taking him apart piece by agonizing piece. He wanted everything and he didn’t know where to begin choosing.

Crowley panted. He could barely find air through his desire. He wasn’t entirely sure his lungs were even working as they should anymore. He abandoned it all— lungs and heart, mind and soul— to Aziraphale. Let them move as all. That’s what he really wanted.

“You,” he said.

“I could tell that much, my dear,” Aziraphale replied, pressing his own growing hardness against Crowley’s. “You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

A growl rose from the back of Crowley’s throat. He used what little willpower he had to step away from Aziraphale. “Lay down in the backseat.” Aziraphale moved to comply only for Crowley to stop him. “Wait. Actually. Just…” Crowley took the blanket and spread it over the seat. “There. That leather can be murder on bare skin.”

“Bare skin,” Aziraphale repeated. He slid into the seat and as soon as he was reclining, a miracle had his clothes folded in a neat pile in the front. “So, like this then?”

Aziraphale’s knees were up and parted to perfectly frame his blushing cock as it rose from amongst golden curls. Crowley felt like the air had been pulled straight from his lungs. He clambered into the back of the Bentley with as much grace as he could manage. As soon as the door was shut behind him, his own clothes vanished. He might have sent them to the front seat or to Mars. He neither knew nor did he care.

He slid beneath Aziraphale’s legs so that they were perched on his shoulders. He kissed pale thighs and nipped the tender flesh just enough to draw out a gasp. He pressed his nose into skin, fat, and muscle. He knew these bodies were only shells but what a glorious one Aziraphale had. He had to remind himself that he had an eternity to explore it all. Later. Now he had that electric feeling to chase, the one that hung like a dissipating shroud around Aziraphale.

He let his tongue fork and followed it like a divining rod down across downy flesh to what he desired. He pressed it deep into Aziraphale with a moan. Thighs clamped tight around his ears when he pushed deeper still. It should have been enough to hurt but all he could think was  _ strong _ . Aziraphale was so strong and yet he was willing to make himself vulnerable to a demon. No, not just any demon. One particular demon. One demon who got to breathe the petrichor after the storm.

“Crowley.”

He would sooner tire of the beating of his heart than the sound of his name dripping off Aziraphale’s tongue. He lapped it up, got drunk on it. He was insensible to all else beyond his name mixed in heat and sweat and the needy twitch of muscle. He could have stayed that way until every last syllable was wrung into that heavenly choir but he couldn’t ignore the throbbing desire for _ more, more, more _ .

Crowley let fingers slip in the place of his tongue. He resented the distance but was more than repaid for it by the sight of Aziraphale. The angel’s hair was a mess of fluffy curls. His skin was dewy with sweat that glistened in the dull glow that lingered around him. Crowley didn’t remember much of Heaven. Hadn’t spent much time there, really, but he had spent a lot of time amongst the stars. Aziraphale was as pale and luminous as some of the best swathes of the Carina Nebula. Crowley wished he could run his fingers through that celestial substance. In a way, he supposed as he hooked his fingers just enough to make Aziraphale cry out, he still could.

But still, still there was that drumbeat in his head for more. Closer. Deeper.

Aziraphale looked at him when he stopped his ministrations. “What— Do we need to… did you already...”

His eyes were blown black and looked unfocused as they travelled over Crowley’s form in search of answers to his half formed questions. Crowley couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest any time he reduced Aziraphale to incoherency.

He took Aziraphale’s hands in his own. “Come here.”

He pulled Aziraphale up so that the angel was straddling his lap. It was an awkward position. Crowley’s knees dug into the seat back in front of him and Aziraphale had to stoop to stop from hitting his head against the interior roof of the car. Already, though, it was better. Aziraphale’s arms and legs were wrapped around him and torsos were pressed together. There was, however, only one whisper of touch on the head of Crowley’s cock, one final gap between them that was bound to drive him mad if they didn’t cross it. His fingers dug into the meat of Aziraphale’s ass and he swallowed hard under the watchful gaze of smiling eyes.

“Like this?” Aziraphale asked, wiggling just enough downward to send Crowley’s head crashing back.

“Yeah. Yes. If you want. That’s—”

Aziraphale sank down onto him in one smooth, excruciatingly slow motion. Crowley swore he saw another flash of divine lightning. He certainly felt one jolt down his spine. Sight, sound, smell, all of it vanished for a moment as his body seized to an immediate stop. His heart was the clap of thunder that followed.

He realized vaguely that somewhere beyond the pulse of blood in his ears, Aziraphale was talking.

“Wuh?”

“I asked if you are alright.”

Crowley thrust up and groaned as a frisson of energy danced over his every nerve. “Fuck. Yes. In the name of everything holy or unholy or who even cares, yesss.”

Aziraphale wrapped steadying hands around the back of Crowley’s head. His thumbs were tucked behind Crowley’s ears and his fingers raked along the short, bristley hair under the base of his skull. It made the hair on Crowley’s neck and arms stand on end and sent him skittering on the razor’s edge of too much and not enough.

When it came to Aziraphale, he would always err on the side of not enough. He pressed forward into a kiss that landed like the first tumbling flakes in a rolling avalanche. Before long, he was buried in the sensation of rolling hips, teeth, tongues, and the continued hum of divine energy that electrified every movement. He had the vaguest notion there were fingers tugging a bit too hard on his hair, that the blanket had slid away and he had leather sticking to places he’d later regret, and that a million other imperfect things were happening. Yet none of it, not a moment of it, took from the perfection of Aziraphale on him and around him.

“Aziraphale. This is— I— Fuck.”

“I rather think I know the feeling,” Aziraphale replied, a laugh on his breath.

A star was born in the too tight cavity of Crowley’s chest. “Angel, you have no idea.”

How could he? Crowley wasn’t even sure what he wanted to say. There was probably something he should say but even at his best, words could be elusive around Aziraphale. All he knew was that this was perfect. That Aziraphale was perfect. Aziraphale was good in ways that should have been agony to him and instead brought only exquisite, blinding ecstasy.

Aziraphale slammed down once, twice, and Crowley had just enough time to wonder if he could get another body if he was discorporated there before he felt the warm, sticky spill of Aziraphale’s release between them. That was his undoing. There were heels in his back and nails in his scalp and all he could feel was the spread of Aziraphale’s pleasure marking him.

He bit down on his lip hard enough to draw blood. Every time he thrusted up in search of more he felt a bit of himself caught on Aziraphale and remained there inside him. He was on fire with it. In agony so hot that it wrapped into an exquisite ecstasy. He let it tear out of him in a silent scream. By the time it was over he was barely aware of his body. He was just a pleasant haze drifting from that celestial fire.

He was brought back to his boneless body when Aziraphale shifted and pulled him down with him. And what a wonderful feeling it was in that body when he could no longer tell what parts belonged to him. He was one of a pair in a sweat slicked tangle of limbs.

Aziraphale swept a soaked strand of hair off his forehead. “Better?”

Crowley buried his face in a salty expanse of chest hair. “Much,” he mumbled.

“In any mood to tell me what that was about?”

Crowley considered. Telling could be fun. Telling could lead to more.

“Nah.” He snapped his fingers and the Bentley’s engine purred to life. “Not right now.” He managed to wriggle out a stretch without disentangling himself. Another snap and the Bentley was on its way to Mayfair. “Right now, sleep. Maybe for a week.”

Aziraphale sighed and Crowley could feel the curl of a smile on the top of his head. “Alright then, but I’m not sitting about that empty flat of yours for a week.” Another snap and the Bentley veered off toward Soho. “A change of course. You can sleep in my flat.”

“Wherever you want to go, angel,” Crowley said with a yawn. “You know I’m with you.”


End file.
